Torn Souls (Soul Ties Book 2)

by LJ Swallow

  Whoever created this new breed of Nephilim raised hell.

  JACK

  Dahlia's late. I always keep my phone on the table if she's hunting and if I'm somewhere noisy, in case she calls and I miss her. Her lateness grows, and so does my anxiety as no text or call comes through. I tell myself this is because she doesn't like pubs, that Dahlia's delaying her arrival so she doesn't need to stay long. But my mind won't accept the explanation, instead picturing her prone body wrecked by a demon.

  “Jack?” asks Faith.

  I've missed the whole conversation. “Yeah?”

  “Friday? Band? Coming?” Faith's frowns grow deeper every day, I swear. Her hair's back to blue this week, and she's a new piercing in her ear.

  “Maybe?” Faith sinks back in her seat and crosses her arms. Uh oh. “What’s wrong?”

  “Could ask you the same thing.”

  The others at the table look warily between Faith and me. We've been friends since primary school, right from the day she pinned me down and filled my mouth with sand. Okay, maybe a few days after then, but a long time, and she's always been short-tempered. I can't remember, but I'm fairly sure she's a redhead under her dyed hair. If you watch any of the TV shows and movies I like, you'll know not to mess with redheads.

  “What?”

  “What?” She mimics my tone, and I know I'm in for some fury.

  “I never said I wouldn't come.”

  “Yeah? But I guess that's up to Dahlia?” The way she practically spits Dahlia's name hints at the root of this.

  “Not really.”

  Faith picks up her drink and snorts quietly into it, the way people do when they're being derisive and pretending you won't notice.

  “What's with you and Dahlia?” I ask.

  “She's weird. And she's gonna hurt you.”

  “I didn't know you'd developed psychic powers,” I snap back.

  She leans forwards. “One: nobody knows who she really is, two: she disappeared and came back without saying where she went, three: anyone who meets the criteria of one and two can't be trusted.” Faith counts each point on her fingers, holding up her blue painted fingernails.

  “I know the answers to one and two.”

  “Really? Share?”

  “No.”

  Faith sucks her lip piercing into her mouth, regarding me with concerned eyes. I know she's worried, but she sounds like a bitch. “I don't want you to get hurt, Jack.”

  “Don't you think I'm capable of making my own decisions when it comes to girls?”

  “I don't like her.”

  The stress of Dahlia's absence and the poking of my insecurities by Faith collide, and I grab my jacket. “Best I leave then. I’m meeting Dahlia here and things won't be pleasant if you're in this mood.”

  As I stride out of the pub, one arm through my jacket, I bump into Dahlia. We both halt.

  “What happened?” we say in unison.

  Dahlia's small smile matches my grin. “You. What happened to you?” she asks.

  “Can't be arsed staying around those guys. Some of them are in a shitty mood.”

  She tips her head. “Faith?”

  I guess it doesn't take psychic powers for Dahlia to know how Faith feels about her.

  “Kind of. But you. What happened?” Dahlia's look wanders away, the way it once did before I knew her. “Dahlia?”

  She reaches for my hand and curls her small fingers around mine. “Nothing much.”

  “Are you hurt?” I scan her and she appears perfectly normal. Apart from the unintentionally sexy hunting outfit, which would open some eyes if we did walk into the pub, this isn’t the kind of gear most of my mates have seen Dahlia wear. Is it wrong of me to want to show them how goddamn hot she is?

  “I'm fine. I just met an extra demon.” Dahlia's casual, but my hand tightens around her fingers. “Ouch, Jack...”

  “Sorry,” I say, and she gives me her don't say that look. “I can't hurt you anyway.”

  She pushes me. “You just crushed my fingers; I'm going to feel that.”

  “Don’t change the subject. What extra demon? Is this unusual?”

  “It's nothing. Can we just go?” Her tone warms up to an argument I don't want, so I drop the subject. She wrinkles her nose at me.

  “Yours or mine?” I ask.

  “I've had a weird evening. I want to go to bed. Sorry.”

  Every ounce of me screams at her to please come to bed with me, every ounce apart from my voice.

  Faith's words trouble me because I know Dahlia isn’t back permanently. Dahlia was falling in my dreams, but now I'm the one falling in love with this strange girl. When I crash to the ground, it’s going to hurt like hell.

  15

  JACK

  I haven’t seen Faith or the others for a couple of weeks. Tonight we’re back together for a Chaos Ride gig, and the venue reminds me of our first attempt at a date, of how much Dahlia hated being around the band. The night I saw Dahlia kill a demon, and my world turned upside down.

  Dahlia isn’t fully here; I can see this from her vacant eyes. We argued about tonight—she didn't want to come and watch the band because she's hunting tonight. What the hell does it matter if she hangs with me for an hour or so first? I think something more is bothering Dahlia, not just the argument on the way over here; something about the night she told me of extra demons bothers me too, because since then, she's cagier.

  Dahlia turns her back away as she sits in the chair. She doesn’t turn completely, but enough to show her displeasure. I can say nothing; she won’t hear me because Chaos Ride is midway through their set, and Kyle sat us next to the speakers, which are on full volume. The band gained popularity over the course of the year, which isn't a surprise as they’re spending a crapload of time rehearsing. Sam seriously considers touring, but the others want to study. Faith's keen to go with him, and between them they chip away at the rest of the band's resolve. Maybe they will go. The thought leadens my stomach because I’d be left here alone if they did. Apart from Dahlia, I mean. If she stays.

  To be honest, I wish Dahlia had argued with me this evening. I know I’ll do anything to avoid confrontation, but sometimes things need to be talked about. Passive aggression sucks; at least Faith is vocal about what she feels. Dahlia's not too hot on sharing her feelings.

  And she's drinking. We occasionally have a beer together on the nights she comes over to mine, but not normally when we go out. Tonight she's finished a couple of bottles already. Don't drink and kill, Dahlia. I laugh but I know I'm right. Deadening her hunting senses could be dangerous.

  There's a pause between tracks long enough for me to speak. Chaos Ride tunes up for the next song. I have a minute.

  “Dahlia? What's wrong?” She shakes her head, not looking at me. “Look, sorry, I know you didn't want to come.”

  “It's okay, but I told you, I'm not in the mood.”

  Dahlia turns her head towards me, and there's trouble in her face I haven’t seen for a while, a magnification of the anxiety outside the pub last week.

  One thought dives into my mind. “Are you leaving?”

  Dahlia pulls her phone out to check the screen. “Soon.”

  “No, I mean leaving leaving.”

  Her face registers my words. “Oh! No, not yet.”

  Ask her when. This isn't the right time. She's only been back a couple of months; Dahlia told me she'd be around longer. “Yet?”

  “Not soon.”

  Our conversation is drowned by the next song and I can't respond. I place a hand on her leg and squeeze, but she doesn't react.

  When Dahlia leaves for the bathroom, I consider following her, but loitering outside the ladies room is never a cool move. The guys at the table are transfixed by the band, and Kyle shakes his hair along with the music. Gathering up some empty glasses, I head for the bar.

  The girl behind the bar is all smiles for the guy who pushes in alongside me, and I bite my tongue when he orders first. He's tall and built like a
rugby player; upsetting the guy would lead to a pummelling by him and whichever rugby mates he’s with. People with his self-important attitude really piss me off; thinking he has a God-given right to be served first. Not that the girl behind the bar pays any attention to me now he's here; she's making stupid faces at him and pulling her vest top too far down, practically flashing him her tits. I tut like an old man and wait my turn.

  A few minutes later, Mr. Hot Guy turns and rests against the bar with his beer, and I lean towards the still distracted barmaid and wave at her. My height usually gets me noticed but this dude is taller. Somehow she manages to stop drooling over him long enough to notice average me, and reluctantly pours me some beers.

  DAHLIA

  Splashing water across my hot face, I peer in the mirror and wonder where the happy Dahlia went. The girl at the next sink carefully coats her mouth with red lipstick and I compare my makeup free face to hers. Maybe I could hide behind a mask too.

  I know where Alexander is now, and he’ll only be at that specific location tonight, so spending an evening watching Chaos Ride with Jack isn't where I should be. Frustratingly, Jack picks tonight to give me a hard time about not joining in with him and his friends. Since most of Jack’s time with his friends is virtual, and I have no interest in gaming, I find his sudden insistence weird and a little hypocritical. I'm not wasting my time arguing. I'm here. I may be switched off and running through plans over and over in my mind, but I'm here.

  The girl pulls a hairbrush from her bag and brushes long blonde hair into a ponytail. Carrying a hairbrush around strikes me as odd but I guess walking around with a dagger in my boot is odder. I smile wryly. At least my dark clothes and leather jacket image match the venue.

  The noise from the band grows then retreats again as someone else walks through the doors into the bathrooms. Five more minutes in here away from the din, and I’ll head back out. Then, if I stay another hour, my departure won't appear too odd.

  Apart from to Jack; he knows something's happening and secrets sneak between us again. After tonight, I'll explain. If I tell Jack now, he'll freak out.

  I brace myself and push open the heavy wooden door. The noise and heat hit me along with the sickly smell of dry ice. I weave through a couple of groups and peer through the dim light to our table. Jack isn't in his seat, and I scan the room, heart rate lifting a little. I’m relieved to see him at the bar, ordering drinks. Jack's T-shirts never fit, and I smile remembering the first day in the cafe when his shirt rode up. Images of his naked back sneak into my mind; thoughts of kissing and touching him follow.

  Until I see who is next to Jack.

  The Nephilim rests against the bar, elbows behind him, widening his personal space. His presence attracts attention, and a nearby girl whispers to her friend, as if about to approach him. The Nephilim’s dark jeans and black T-shirt stretch across his toned chest, adding edginess to his image drawing her in. Topped off with his leather jacket, black boots, and self-assured attitude, he’s a magnet for the girls here.

  The sound of the band fades as I stare. Facing me, he slowly drinks from a bottle but I’m too far away to see if he's noticed me. The blonde haired girl from the bathroom pushes past and I step out of the way. My scrutiny remains on the Nephilim, who lifts his bottle in a toast to me. As I pray he doesn't realise who Jack is, the Nephilim points to Jack and gives me the thumbs up.

  Shit.

  I push through the crowds and out of the door. Hopefully he'll follow me and leave Jack alone.

  I haven't walked far from the building when footsteps gain on me but I keep striding. The Nephilim can't interfere. Not tonight. I have to find Alexander first.

  “Where are you going, Dahlia?” calls the Nephilim.

  I increase my pace, blending into the shadows and the maze of the industrial looking buildings. Ducking beneath one of the awkward concrete structures, I wait, breath held. Sometimes my size can be useful.

  His footsteps halt. “Don't try and hide from me, you silly girl.” I grip my sleeve, biting back the desire to retort. “I know what you're planning, and I'd advise against it. You'll get yourself killed.”

  Why? Because I'm not super-demon incarnate like him? And how the hell does he know what I'm planning?

  Leather scuffs on concrete as he treads around the corner. “And you can't hide from me because you know I'm Nephilim, and my senses are a thousand times better than yours, soul hunter.”

  His face appears in my place of shelter and I withdraw, knocking my head on the block behind me. He laughs and I bend down, edge around him as I move out of the space.

  “Fine,” I mutter.

  The god-shaped demon rests against the wall opposite, legs crossed at his ankles with an amused smile I want to smack off his face. “But I'm serious, don't go there tonight. It's a trap.”

  “I've no idea what you're talking about.”

  “Of course not. I know nothing about the demons who've fed you lies to trap you where they want you tonight.”

  Fed lies? “Why should I believe you? You just want to get to him first.”

  The Nephilim pulls himself forwards. “True.”

  “So why play cat and mouse with me?”

  “You mean why haven't I killed you yet? I've decided I'm not going to kill you, Dahlia. I'm going to help you.”

  “Right, of course.”

  He takes a sudden step towards me, and I stumble backwards. “Did you see how close I was to your human boy? Isn't it a good thing that was me and not one of them? Because they know who he is.”

  “My problem.”

  The Nephilim's eyes shine in the dim light. “Your hands are shaking, Dahlia.”

  Why does he keep saying my name in the stupid mocking way? “Leave me alone.”

  “Only if you go back to Jack.” My eyebrows shoot up. “Yeah, I know his name too. Go back to him. Don't try and find Alexander tonight.”

  “What? And leave Alexander for you?”

  Nephilim guy shrugs. “I'm not killing him tonight, and even if I was, there's fuck all you could do about it.”

  Arrogant bastard. But my stomach churns—this guy could mean failure in this mission and he’s right: there's nothing I can do about it. Then what? Who knows what Darius will do to me?

  No, my bigger worry is Jack and the danger I’ve put him in.

  “And Jack...” I break off, trying to gauge exactly how much danger.

  “I'm not interested in killing humans.”

  “Sure you're not.” A Nephilim's purpose in life is collecting souls for the Demon Lords, which involves death for those involved. Usually humans. He’s lying.

  The guy tips his head. “I won't kill Jack, Dahlia.”

  He's earnest, the cocky edge drops from his voice, and I shiver because I think he knows something I don't. His challenge remains though, and I know tonight's mission to kill Alexander is over. I turn away, to return to Jack.

  JACK

  Dahlia moves through the bar, grabs her jacket, and heads out again like a tiny whirlwind, and with only a cursory glance at me. Nobody at the table notices or cares. I grab my jacket and follow her; recent panic over where she went is replaced with fear about what's happened to make her run like this.

  Outside, the street is quiet, and I can just make out her small figure heading up the hill into the darkness. Fuck, she can move fast when she wants. I call out and run after her. When I catch up alongside, she continues her long strides, but I don't have any trouble keeping up.

  “Dahlia, what's wrong?”

  “Nothing.”

  I grab her jacket, hands sliding against the cool leather. “Talk to me.”

  Dahlia stops and turns, her face shadowed. “I want to go.”

  “Again?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “What the hell is going on, Dahlia? You need to explain these things to me.”

  “There's something complicated happening. It'd take me too long to explain what, but it's screwing things up.” />
  “What?”

  She sighs and starts walking again. “I just said, it's too complicated.”

  “No, Dahlia!” I'm as surprised as she is by the forcefulness of my tone.

  This time she pauses close to a streetlamp, and the disbelief is registered on her small features. “No?”

  “Tell me. I still only know half a story and I have to know what's happening. How long are you staying? Are you in danger?” I pause. “Am I in danger?”

  When she doesn't respond, stress leaks into my muscles.

  A bus pulls up at a nearby stop. “Let’s go. I'll talk to you at home.” She moves towards the bus.

  Home. A strange way for her to describe where we live.

  The bus doors hiss shut behind, and we sit in the seat closest to the front. Silently. On the journey home, I wonder if she's rehearsing her answers as I'm rehearsing my questions. She doesn't speak, and her eyes have the faraway look from the original Dahlia; there's no point trying to talk. In her lap, Dahlia twists her fingers around and absentmindedly flicks at her nails.

  Is she leaving? Because this is definitely old Dahlia.

  Our footsteps crunch across gravel, the only sound as we walk across to the Halls. Side by side but not touching. I plunge my hands deep into my jeans pockets; skin prickling with the dread of what she might say when we’re inside. Dahlia heads towards my end of the building, which perks me up a little; at least she's not storming home alone. I hang back for a moment to watch her, a black cloud, hovering around my room door as I catch up.

  I inhale deeply and study the demon-killing Dahlia. Her brown eyes appear huge in her small face as she looks back.

  “It's time then,” she says.